


Nobody Cares Enough To Care

by punkpasta



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Angst, M/M, eeeeeh, hes in love with a hetero boy, in later chapters tho i think idek, poor sad dave, this is majorly a work in progress, underage alcohol use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkpasta/pseuds/punkpasta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody cares about Dave Strider. If anyone cared, they would do something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yo so in this dave is emotionally/mentally abused and neglected by bro (ha ha as if that isnt already canon) so like. jussayin.

He doesn’t care, does he? He doesn’t care about you, at all. He cares about his cult following online. Nobody cares about you, not really. If he cared, maybe he would put food in the fridge? Maybe he would help patch you up after he almost killed you? If your brother cared, maybe he would actually say something to you instead of pulling you through insane puzzles and traps.

If John cared, he might have noticed the messages you send. He might see the bandages under your shirt and ask if they were from your bro, and then you could say “most of them.”

If Rose cared, she might say something about the way you never seem to have a lunch, or money to buy it with, though your clothes are fancy brands and your camera has 300-dollar lenses.

If Jade cared, she might notice your grimace whenever she hugs you and maybe she would help you wrap up your wounds properly.

If anyone cared, they might notice.

Your name is Dave Strider and nobody cares about you. It’s not entirely their fault; you do your best to stay locked up inside your cool kid box, a smooth Dave-shaped shell. You developed silent tears, so John will never notice you sobbing at night again. The first time, he said nothing. The second time he moved over and you crawled up into his bed with him, and you had fallen asleep wrapped around him. He had laughed and shoved you off when you both woke up, joking about how he wasn’t gay. You laughed it off and pretended it hadn’t bit deeper than expected.

It’s been two years and you are sitting next to him in math class, trying to focus on problems two through eleven and not on the scabs scraping against your sleeve or on John’s leg, casually pressed against yours. It’s may, and he’s wearing shorts, but you never abandon your skinny jeans- maybe if you wear the clothes bro leaves for you he might notice- and John is used to idle closeness. It kills you, every day. It kills you every time you get distracted and reach for his hand.

Every day is a balancing act. You desperately want your bro to love you, but you are afraid of what he will do when he notices how much you want him to. He already films you all the time, would he coerce you into some kind of Muppet pornography trap, manipulating you again and again as you begged for attention?

 ~

“Hey dude.” you say as you sit beside John in the cafeteria, sliding notebooks out of your bag to make up for the empty space on the table. John groans and pulls out a second sandwich.

“My dad seems to think that eating twice as much will make me taller when in fact I would just get fat.”

“Bro is that grape jelly. Bro. Grape jelly. You’re not going to eat the grape jelly?” your voice is tinged with sarcasm, as usual, and yet you know you’re going a bit far. Your true desperation snuck in there at the end- please, John, please give me the sandwich.

“Here, have the grape jelly, you dweeb.”

“John, you’re missin’ out here. If anything, you’re a dweeb.” You flick his head with your pencil and try your best to eat the sandwich as if you had breakfast this morning- and dinner last night.

Rose sits down and unzips her lunch bag. She starts setting up small trays, and she pours a tiny bottle of soy sauce into a dish. Rose makes her own lunches, and today she has sushi rolls. She slides black chopsticks out of a case and starts eating. Jade bounces in, with a tray of school pizza and three milks.

“I got a few so if you want some, John, I know you’re trying to get taller, or you, Dave, since this one’s chocolate!” you take it and give her a nod and wink.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dave sleeps over at john's house every friday. this week is no different from the last, right?

You’re staring at the clock, waiting, and- yes. There it is. Class is over. And it’s Friday, isn’t it? The day that bro doesn’t ever come home, not until 9 am the next day. You go to John’s house on Fridays. His dad makes dinner. You eat with him and Jane and Mr. Egbert. It is real, actual food. Food that you didn’t buy at the 7-11. Food with vegetables and cheese that doesn’t come in a can or from a plastic lunchables tray, food that was cooked by someone who cares about what he’s doing. And you can take as much as you want- well, kind of. If you eat too much at once you’ll throw up. And you can stay up as late as you want if you’re quiet, and John can get snacks from kitchen cupboards and you can eat them. And you’ll sleep on a mattress on the floor, or maybe on John’s bed if he falls asleep while you’re still hanging out. And nobody makes you do anything you don’t want to do. The toilet always works. There are three kinds of shampoo in the shower. There are no deadly weapons.

John’s dad says nothing when you take thirds of pasta and salad, and Jane doesn’t realize you’re still eating dinner when she goes into the kitchen to bring out a tray of brownies.

“I tried this caramel recipe I found online. I thought it would be nice to have brownies on Dave night instead of whatever ice cream we have in the freezer.”

You look up with a noodle hanging out of your mouth and you shove it the rest of the way in and politely wipe your lips with a napkin. You hop up and clear people’s empty plates. In the kitchen, alone with leftovers, you slip Tupperware out of the cupboard and stuff it with pasta and whatever crap you can find in the fridge. Food that isn’t Doritos or ramen flavor packets. You’ll save it in the cooler in your bedroom to eat over the weekend.

You hurry back to the dining room to eat Jane’s brownies, but John is halfway up the stairs, with the pan in his hands. Mr. Egbert and Jane are sitting at the table, each with an extra-big brownie in front of them. They’re eating with a knife and fork. They eat everything with a knife and fork.

John, on the other hand, is sticking his fingers right into the tray, pulling clumps of chocolate off and sticking them in his mouth.

You sit by him on the bed and shove Jane’s work of art into your mouth and swallow thickly.

“Let’s get this party started!” John says, like the dork he has always been, but this time he pulls a bottle of white wine from the space between the bed and the wall. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly as John pulls a corkscrew out of his shorts pocket and wiggles the cork out of the bottleneck’s opening.

You take a long drink, coughing at the bitterness. It doesn’t taste much like grapes. Bro keeps alcohol, but he’s more of a tequila guy.

“We’d get SO arrested if anyone found out.” John takes three swallows. He already sounds like it’s getting to him. He’s right, though. There’s an ounce of leniency for older teenagers drinking, but 14 year olds? Bro wouldn’t really care, but you’re sure he’d punch you a few times to fulfill his “good parenting” quota. Hah.

You and John pass the wine back and forth a few more times, drinking more than half of the contents. You talk about the randomest shit until there’s not more caramel brownies left, and john picks up the laptop he’d left to slide closer and closer to the edge of the ghostbusters green-slimer bedspread.

“Whatta you gonna do on there?” your words slur a bit, but it’s nothing compared to red-faced giggling John.

“I’ma go’n omegle!”

“Oh, fuck. Fine. Lets do this shit.” You both sit with your legs out, leaning against the wall. He taps on the keyboard, selecting video chat.

The first thing you see is a dick. John starts laughing and ends the chat.

Four young teenage girls. Maybe about your age? John waves, and you see them giggling.

“dude, lets just go to bed. This is stupid.” You’re starting to feel weird about the amount of giggling that’s going on.

“fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine party pooper.” John types a goodbye to the girls and closes the computer. He flops over and pulls you down on top of him and your teeth press hard into your tongue. You force yourself to flop over so you lay next to him, not touching at all. His eyes are big, deep blue. Maybe it’s half a bottle of alcoholic grapes, but you lean forward.

John doesn’t realize what’s happening until the second that your lips make contact. He gasps, and moves his head back.

You falter, sit up, distangle yourself from the heavy ropes of silence in the room, and walk out the bedroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's rather shit, i've been a bit busy with a lot of homework and stuff :o


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry

It’s too dark for a drunken kid to be out alone, especially in this part of the city. You’re just glad you remembered to grab your keys off the Egberts’ coffee table. Your shoulders are slumped forward, hands shoved in pockets, teeth pressing hard into your lip to stop the waterworks welling up behind your eyes. Stupid. How could you be so stupid? This is why you tell yourself you deserve everything- the beatings, the neglect, the deep emptiness that’s rolling around with half a bottle of cheap wine and three plates of spaghetti in your stomach.

You’re turning down the street and the cheap lighting above the entrance to your apartment building is in your sight when you stop, and stiffen.

There’s someone behind you. Shit, shit, fuck. Someone behind you. You keep walking, trying to make yourself look less like a vulnerable kid. It’s not as if you’ve never had people try to sell you drugs or kidnap you while walking home at night before. Your hands shake under your hoodie pockets and your red converse hit the pavement just a little faster. You abruptly turn into the entrance of the apartment, punching in the code with one hand while pulling on the door handle with the other. The hoodie-clad man behind you keeps walking. You were probably just being paranoid. You climb six floors of stairs and finally you’re faced with the tall black door to bro’s deluxe 2-bedroom penthouse. Where you happen to live, if you can call it that.

You’re inside your bedroom in two seconds, despite knowing that he won’t be home. A few of the tupperwares you stole from john’s are tucked under your hoodie, and you put them away in the cooler in your closet and make sure that there aren’t any cameras recording you. You go online.

8tracks, tumblr, whatever. You’re just wasting an hour before bed, trying to get yourself to think about something other than the nagging feeling that you don’t matter to anyone- that nobody could ever fall in love with you.

Sometimes you think that the only people who will ever care about you are musicians that don’t know you exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, such a tiny tiny chapter after two months is straight inexcusable, but i've been really stumped with where to take this story. im gonna try to keep forcing myself to write more often (i listened to a meme playlist and told myself i could turn it off when i had enough for this chapter and theres only so many times you can hear gangnam style before you explode)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit so a lot has been going down lately, including my father having a heart attack, a friend coming to visit, a boyfriend going to england for 3 weeks, a trip to japan, river rafting, and a bout of nasty head colds. sorry again for short chapters after far too long a waiting period. forgive me. please forgive me.

Crash, bang, thunk, “motherfucker!”

Bro’s home. It’s noon on Saturday and you’re sipping apple juice and lunching on some kind of goopy fried rice thing that you’d shoved in your backpack from the school cafeteria. Despite being hidden in your room, you immediately try to locate any possible weapons or hiding places. You hear the sound of something slicing, and then a microwave beep, and then the shitty sound effects of some video game. Thank god, he’s distracted. You go back to eating as quietly as you can, praying that if he does come to your room, the 300 dollar opaque lenses will obscure your fear. The impassive shell that you usually let slip when you’re alone comes back, and you’re instantly on guard.

“HEY, LITTLE MAN.” A rough voice cuts through the apartment, and it’s accompanied by two loud crashes: your bro dropping or knocking something over in the living room, and you jumping out of your skin and knocking a bling-covered smuppet plush off the desk.

“GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW, KID.” Something’s made your bro angry.  No choice but to cooperate. You step out of the bedroom and pray that your outfit is clean and that you look ironic enough in the sesame street big bird t-shirt that you found on the couch last week.

He’s spread out over the couch, smelling like a hangover and eating doritos.

“Bro?” your stance looks casual, but every muscle is tensed under your clothes and everything that you’ve learned from the man in front of you during rooftop battles is surfacing: quick escapes, dodging blows, improvising weapons.

“Yeah, hey twerp. Look, there aren’t any more fucking frozen chicken nuggets, so you’re going to go buy me some more. Hopefully you can do that without fuckin it up too bad.”

“bro, I need money.”

“DID I SAY I WAS GOING TO GIVE YOU MONEY?” he’s not yelling, in fct his voice hasn’t changed in volume at all. But it’s got a hardness to it, an angry feeling.

“no sorry im gonna get the nuggets.” You swing on your hoodie and slip out the front door, a crumpled five dollar bill in your pocket. Hopefully, you’ll remember which brand he likes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dave buys nuggets, smokes a cigarette, bleeds, and tries to reach out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has self harm in it. dont read it if that'll be upsetting.

The nearest grocery store is a safeway that you’ve applied to work for at least fifty times. They never let you, even though you’re basically keeping the entire place running on your brother’s sudden cravings and latent alcoholism. Somehow they never notice that you’re using his id to buy the world’s shittiest triple sec.

The store is mostly empty; a few middle aged moms buying something gluten free are dragging their kids away from the aisles you hit. Reese’s peanut butter cups are two for a dollar so you grab a pair of packages and the cheapest and largest box of nuggets. Your dirty but name-brand hoodie hides the dark circles rimmed under your eyes.

You get home and microwave sixteen nuggets for your brother. He takes the plate, sets it on the coffee table, and whacks you upside the head.

“How many times I gotta tell your useless ass to bring me some motherfucking ketchup?” he snarls, leather-gloved fist ready to shove you into the kitchen if you don’t hop to it. You do.

Back in your bedroom, you slip the hoodie off and pull the white t-shirt off over your head. You look down at your body, running your fingers over the skin of your torso.

It’s the definition of a battlefield, marred with scars and bruises and thin layers of muscle moving under your old skin.

You pull a cigarette out of a box in the dresser, flicking a lighter to it. A glowing orange light brightens while you inhale, letting the smoke drag around your bedroom. You lean back onto the bed, fading in and out of thinking while you keep rhythmically breathing out smoke. It curls above your head, tired eyes behind defense shades. The cigarette’s burned down a good amount. A glass bowl serves as a often-ignored ashtray. Gray snow falls onto the cluttered floor and you put one arm before your eyes. Some of the scars are from bro’s Marlboros, some from your own.

it burns. 

Another neat round cauterized wound.

It’s not a good time to be fragile, because in the time it took for you to smoke and self-harm, he’s gotten angry.

Half an hour later, it’s midafternoon and you’re curled up in the corner, holding that white t-shirt to your bloody nose.

There have got to be better ways to get out your frustration over losing a video game.

He’s drunk, most likely. Whatever. He doesn’t care what you’re doing, you don’t care what he’s doing, and jade doesn’t seem to care when you text her.

 

TG: hey jade whats happenin?

GG: hi dave! nothing much, i’m just hanging out here i guess.

TG: yea sick can i come over things are a lil iffy around here

GG: i don’t know, bec is kind of sick and i’m worried about him

TG: hey bro that’s fine its fine i know you gotta attend to your dog and shit

TG: bro is in a really bad mood is all

GG: well, i’m sure it will be ok.

GG: you’re brothers and i’m sure you’ll work it out, dave.

TG: uh, sure

GG: i really gotta go, ok? love you!

TG: bye jade. see you at school on monday.

GG: see you!!!

 

Its kind of pathetic how much you beg for attention. You have enough reminders of why you don’t deserve it, not only in the living room.

The first instinct you have is to text john, but fuck if you’re ready to deal with that kind of emotional backlash. Shit. You’re about to give in when

 

EB: hey dave…

TG: whats up

EB: so about what you did on friday…

TG: im sorry dude

EB: dave, you know you could have stayed here. you didn’t need to walk all the way home. it was late, and cold.

TG: it doesnt matter. im fine.

EB: it does matter.

EB: i’m not gay, dave. i don’t care if you are, but i’m really not interested. don’t kiss me ever again.

TG: im sorry.

EB: dave?

EB: we can still be bros if you want.

EB: dave?

EB: message me back, we need to talk.

 

            It keeps pinging. You stopped looking a while ago.

            You could use another cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologise for probably not getting the typing styles completely right. i am lazy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i forgot to write for like six months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so fucking sorry i cant really apologize for how long its been since i updated. id give you the standard school, relationships, medical excuse but like :/// i didnt try enough for you guys

Weekends are always the worst, because as much as you pretend to hate the place, you can find a bit of refuge at school. Monday morning is made of the possibility of an unbroken promise, but today it’s more like a threat that you know will be held up.

            It’s another showcase for the emotionless cool-kid shell. Your hair’s combed, blood cleaned out of the roots, arms carefully slid into another hoodie emblazoned with something probably ironic that you don’t have the energy to be amused by.

            Your first class is AP biology. Not that the insides of animals don’t interest you, but you can’t pay attention. Next class is math and you have that one with John.

            Ten minutes, four and a half times. Just gotta get through ten minutes, four and a half times. 45 minutes of not looking at John Egbert.

            It doesn’t work out very well and even though you used to tell yourself you could get through two minutes of anything, just two minutes, then two more, two more, until whoever or whatever was hurting you stopped. This is a whole new kind of two minutes, because being empty hurts but hope hurts more. You spend forty minutes staring at John and five minutes trying not to.

            _‘Just look at me. Look at me with that goofy grin, make a sine and cosine joke, anything’_ you know god isn’t real- or at least he doesn’t give a shit about you and he never will- but you’re praying things can at least go back to the way they were.

            You’re absolutely not paying attention to something about triangles when Rose texts you.

 

TT: I’m fully aware you’re in class right now, but this is really important.

TT: John told me about what happened on Friday and you need to speak with him.

TG: i don’t think that’s a good idea

TT: Just do it. At least preserve the balance of the squad.

TG: the squad.

TT: The Crew. The Dream Team. The Conglomerate. The Association of Teenage ne’er-do-wells.

TG: did you just use the word ne’er do wells

TT: Talk to John.

TG: no

 

            You don’t have to talk to John, because he comes up to you while you’re trying to shove all of your shit into your backpack.

            “Hey. Man. Wait up.” You ignore him, but don’t turn away. “look, okay, it’s not like I’m going to have some weird oh my god you’re gay talk in the middle of the C hall, but maybe we should have a conversation about this?” he doesn’t wait for your reply before starting in again, “I mean, I totally don’t mind if you’re gay or bi or whatever, okay? But I’m not gay. Or bi. I like girls, okay? Not you. Its nothing personal and I’m sorry I was so rude on Friday but I just wasn’t expecting it and, and I, I don’t know I don’t want to stop being friends okay?”

            You finally say something- “Okay. No homo, alright?”

            “Nice.”

            The two of you walk out of the building, arguing over Super Mario Galaxy again, shoving each other and messing around like normal. There’s something in the way your arms brush against each other and something in John’s eyes when he asks if you want to hang out today, that doesn’t let you shove this down into the black hole where you put feelings that Are Not There. Something in the way he laughs when you make a stupid joke, the kind even John would usually groan at, that keeps the softly burning hope alive somewhere in your chest, threatening to turn you into ash.

            You manage to ignore it for now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we return after an embarrassingly long hiatus ;-; this is a short chapter but im going to write like its going out of style so i have more for tomorrow.

When you wake up, the sun hits your window at the perfect angle to obscure the world and make everything look okay. When you sit up, everything comes back into focus and the light makes your eyes burn. When you stand up, something shoots pain up your leg and you remember the bruises up your leg. Its too early to go to school and besides, something you don’t want to think about is caked into your hair.

            Using your bathroom has always been an undertaking, between finding a time when bro wont mind the noise and trying to get every camera device and puppet out of the room. You strip off a dirty white and gray t-shirt with a wide birdlike design on it and pull the sticky, fraying tape off your arms and chest. The medicine cabinet is known for holding mostly empty cigarette cartons and disposable shaving razors, but you find something that resembles peroxide and use toilet paper to dab at whatever hasn’t scabbed up yet. The water begins to warm the small room and you slip your pajama pants down long, pale, purple-red-yellow stained legs. Hesitantly, you poke each bruise. Yep, it hurts. Big surprise.

            The water is hot enough to steam up the mirrors and you step behind the glass door. Sometimes when you’re in the chrome-rimmed stall and it’s steamed up so badly that you cant see the unwashed tile and garbage can of empty toothpaste boxes and crumpled tissues, you can pretend that you are somewhere far away. Like the heat and the water can wash away the whole world and you can be nothing.

            Every time you feel like nobody will ever love you, every time you feel worthless, every time you get hurt can wash down the drain like the sweat and tears. It’s safe to cry in the shower because nobody can hear you and your tears mix with the water and go down the drain where nobody will ever see them or care that they exist.

            Expensive shampoo and conditioner are robotically washed through your hair and you wish that there was some way to dissolve and run down the drain, where the hot water would carry you away to something that was not here. You sob openly through the axe-scented hair goop that runs in bright blue rivers down your skin.

            The water has to turn off, the door has to open, and the day has to begin. This is inevitable.

            Breakfast does not exist for you.

            School does not exist inside your head today. You are nowhere today.

            “Hey! Dave, I’ve been saying your name for an hour. What’s going on, man? Are you on drugs?” John pulls you back into somewhere

           “Nah, man, just spacin’. What’s up?”

            “We have to do science? Because this is, you know, science class? Have you been listening at all?” he laughs and you feel hollow. 

            someone once told you that hope is paralyzing. Someone once told you that hope keeps you alive another day. You can’t decide which is worse.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i'll actually write shit. im a useless man. love me

You cant keep up with john’s banter today. Something about your guardian’s outburst last night has shaken you to the core. It’s deep into the last class of the day when john tells you he finally found Metroid prime 2 and wants you to come over to watch him play. Something about the way he invites you lets you pretend that it’s just a normal afternoon with two normal friends.

            Somehow, normal afternoon becomes late evening and you’re barely starting to ask to sleep over when John says yes. Metroid prime 2 becomes Sonic Adventure, and eventually john turns off the tv set and flops backwards onto the bed, inviting you to do the same. The room was completely dark save the tiny glowing light coming from the computer desk. John is half asleep when you say something

            “Hey dude. Can I ask you a question?”

            “You just did” it’s such a John-like response that you have to bite your lip and take a breath to keep the rhythm in your voice.

            “No, seriously. John. I need to ask something.”

            “no, seriously. John. I need to ask something.”

“Shoot,” he says, like the words you are about to say are not bullet holes in your body.

            “John, do you love me?” The silence is enough to fill your question with an answer and you take another breath, a shuddering hitch almost betraying your composure. You’d given up hope for any reply when you hear John breathe in deep, let it out, inhale again and-

            “Yes. I do. You’re my best friend, Dave, of course I love you. Don’t be stupid.” Something inside of you snaps, flooded, like maybe you can finally tell someone what your life is. Instead, all you can do is wait for your voice to come back, wait for the tears to retract back into your eyes, pray John doesn’t see anything.

            “Dave, are you okay?” the sincerity in his voice somehow manages to push you even further out of your painstakingly maintained box and you wipe the tears with your sleeve and then try to breathe. You’re still wavering when you look at John, right into the dark blue eyes you used to dream of floating inside of.

            “I have to tell you a few things…” and it spills like every floodgate inside your body is breaking. They say hope is paralyzing. 

There’s no way to explain the things you take as normal to someone like john. He’s grown up with such a conventional household- the one thing that makes his family non-nuclear is the mother that died in childbirth, not even a freak accident or cancer or drugs, just some malfunction. John’s life has always only been stern fatherly warnings, grounded for a weekend, midnight curfew, college fund in the bank, discounted target jeans, culinary-school-bound sister making dinners and desserts. There’s no way to tell john that you are so used to expensive clothes to cover up deep scars, stepping over the remains of well-endowed puppets and empty chip bags to find a refrigerator filled with empty plates and apple flavored alcohol you don’t have the heart to steal. It’s not like he’d hit you for taking it. It’s not like he needs an excuse to hit you. There's no way to tell him that the one piece of family that you have left has never cared about anything beyond his business ventures and his girls and himself.

            The words are stuck in your mouth, like the ghosts of your brother’s fingers are flexing around your neck. Your arms freeze at your sides and your body braces for some kind of attack. John’s sitting up, legs criss cross applesauce like when you were both in elementary school and nobody expected the little blond boy whose parents died when he was five to explain his injuries. You remember your first broken arm and the fell-out-of-a-tree excuse.

            You can see John trying to put it all together in his head, to wrap his mind around the splintered words you manage to get out. Finally, you look up into his eyes and manage to spit it out like the bloody bile that slides off your tongue so easily.

            “My bro hurts me.” You slide your arms inside your shirt and slip it over your head, praying John isn’t squeamish.

            You realize your eyes are shut tight when you hear a sound in the blackness and you open them, enough dim light in the room showing your best friend the horror movie of your body. The sound was a sob.

            He cries into the night and you hold him, letting your tears sink into his hair.

            Somebody once said that love is the most powerful force in the universe.

Tonight, David Strider is loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;-; this could have been better written


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot i wrote this in may and then with finals everything got away from me... pls dont kill me

Tonight always turns into tomorrow, and the safety that the darkness provides always turns into the morning, and you always have to wake up and pull the night off of you and keep moving.

            Today, John Egbert wakes up when the alarm goes off at 6:30 am. Today, John Egbert spends a minute lying in bed, remembering why his glasses are halfway off his face and he is still wearing his jeans and-

            There is a blond body beside him. There are long, thin arms around his torso and his legs are tangled with skinny jeans. There is a skinny blond boy trying to pull the love out from under him. Still asleep, the blond boy hums gently and twists the sheet between his knife handle fingers and John Egbert ignores the twisting inside of him.

            Classes keep marching forward and both boys are in a daze. John Egbert has never needed to feel things this deeply. He has always had friends, fathers, video games. John has never needed to be anything but a teenage boy. Dave has never been anything but a best friend.

            John Egbert needs time to think.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit!!!

You are in math class again when he taps you from his seat.

            “Hey, man. We need to talk at lunch. “ You nod and pretend that you’re not racking through all the possibilities of things he could be mad about.

            When lunchtime comes, the two of you sit together, letting the mindless ocean of the lunchroom chatter blur into a comforting wave of background noise for your lack of a conversation. If John wants to talk, he can say something. You’re waiting and thinking and trying not to think so much. John’s lunch tray sits untouched in front of him, and he looks like he’s going to cry.

            “You. You need to not be with your bro anymore.” His voice is rough. “You need to tell Jade and Rose and maybe an adult. You can’t sleep over at my house every night and just pretend things are okay. It’s not good. You can’t keep acting fine and letting me- letting your friends worry about you.”

            “I don’t think anyone worries about me that much.” Your voice is soft and hoarse, and honesty feels weird on your tongue.

            “Dave! Don’t be like that. Rose and Jade are always worrying about you. They don’t want to upset you by asking too many questions, Rose is always telling us that you’ll talk when you’re ready. I’ve been worried something was wrong since my dad got mad at me when you were over four months ago and you shut down for the whole night! You opened up to me and I want to help you because I care about you! We all do. I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to, but you need to at least tell Rose and Jade. They love you and they want to help you. I want to help you.”

            “I’ll tell them.” There are weights on your shoulders but they feel almost comforting, like telling your friends will be scary but ultimately okay. You never feel okay. You don’t remember anxiety without panic. You breathe.

            As if summoned by divine powers, Rose and Jade sit down across from the two boys. John is red in the face and sitting sideways on his bench. You look as if you might be a little stressed- and even that is a wide crack in your shell. Anyone else would be in tears. You’re used to this.

            “What’s going on?” Jade looks from one face to another and tries to make a connection.

            “I- can we go somewhere more private?” your friends wordlessly stand up and the four of you walk to the north stairwell and sit under the steps.

            “My bro… he hurts me. He yells at me and he plays mind games and he hits me and he treats me like a slave or a dog or an object. He doesn’t love me. I don’t think anyone loves me. It’s taking all I have to tell you this and I don’t know what to do and John’s making me tell you and I’m so fucking tired of pretending everything is okay and that I’m okay when I’m not. I’m not okay and my life is hellish and I just want it to stop.” Your breathing is heavy, head down, arms wrapped around your knees protectively, trying to take up as little space as possible. The stairwell is silent, as if the air is taking in the realities of Dave’s life.

           Jade is the first to react, letting tears fall down her full cheeks. She inhales shakily and breathes out “Oh god.” Rose’s usually impassive face drops its usual demeanor and she has empathy in her eyes, connecting her drunken mother’s occasional neglect to Dave’s abuse.

            More than half of the lunch period is gone before Jade speaks.

            “Nobody’s going to afternoon classes. We’re going to mickey d’s.” the usually indecisive and considerate girl spoke so commandingly that everyone else automatically stood up and shouldered their bags before following her out the stairwell door and down the street. Dave zipped his jacket up the front and gripped the cuffs, curling shaking hands around black cotton.

            He slid into the booth after rose, relaxing somewhat into the sticky red vinyl. Jade walked back from the counter with a mile long receipt and the quartet sat in silence. Rose broke it.

            “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” somehow her statement is accusatory and gentle at the same time. Dave shrinks beside John, unsure how to express the level of shame he felt. John seemed to somehow get the message.

“I think maybe probably Dave just kind of was scared we wouldn’t believe him or we would think he was over reacting or something so I guess it was just that maybe he was scared or ashamed?” John stayed true to his usual stumbling eloquence. The man behind the counter called out the number on Jade’s infinite receipt and she manages to cart fries and nuggets and burgers back to the table.

Dave Strider is torn open, he is split, he is naked, he is silent, and he is empty. Dave Strider’s walls have been demolished and somehow, he’s not as worried as he thought he would be.

Under the table, John puts his hand over Dave’s.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry! i have a bit more but it needs some work, i will post the next chapter soon! -u-


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